


Bloodshot Forget-Me-Nots

by yesterday4



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday4/pseuds/yesterday4
Summary: At the end of the road, Sam Winchester starts to tell his story.  Set in 2071.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story way back in 2008, so obviously a lot of this has been disproved by canon. Fair warning! Also, I obviously do not own Supernatural.

**Colorado. 2071.**

Unbelievable.

Clamping her lips over her cigarette, Mary McCallum barely resisted the urge to turn the pockets of her jacket inside out as the damned craving crawled through her belly and throbbed behind her eyes. She always had a lighter on her, always, and it made no sense that the damned thing had somehow managed to disappear from her purse, her pants pocket, and her jacket. A quick glance at her cell phone confirmed that she didn't really have enough time left on her break to sneak across the street to the gas station, and Ashley was always picky if she went a little over. Didn't like covering the desk to begin with, and she never failed to let Mary know it. Like being a secretary wasn't as presitigious as being a nurse, like she wasn't as valued. See how many calls had to be fielded before that changed, Mary thought with a scowl.

Damn, she wanted a smoke. Even though she was supposed to have quit last week, or the week before. Next week. She'd quit again next week. Honest to God.

Slumping back against the picnic table placed to give the old folks a nice view of the fields behind the home, Mary took a look around and tried to ignore the cravings. The grounds--lofty wording, they weren't that big--were pretty much deserted. It was 6:30. Most of the residents were playing cards inside, socializing after dinner. She could only see one sitting on the porch, Mrs. Jenkins maybe.

"Need a light?"

The voice, soft behind her on the left, startled Mary and she jumped. Turned with a smile--yes, she did, very much, thanks--and found a tall man, stooped with age, standing a couple of feet away, leaning on a cane and holding out a precious beautiful lighter. Sam Winchester, she remembered after a moment, from 40A.

"Yes, thanks," she replied, standing and leaning towards the flame. The first puff tasted like Heaven, if Heaven tasted like an ash tray. She ruefully raised her cigarette at him. "Filthy habit. I'm going to quit next week." Maybe. If Ryan had stopped calling her by then; if she stopped picturing him with that tramp every time she closed her eyes.

Mr. Winchester shrugged and, somewhat to her horror, made to sit beside her at the picnic table. She did not know Mr. Winchester well--did not know any of them well, really; kept to herself mostly at her desk--and the thought of idly pleasant conversation made an uncomfortable knot form in her stomach. She'd always made a habit of never getting too close--just the secretary, after all. She mostly dealt with their families, the ones that still bothered to come.

"You should always carry a lighter on you," Mr. Winchester advised her, sagely. "Never know when it'll come in handy."

She smiled. "Once every couple of hours, I'd imagine." And then, "What are you doing out here, Mr. Winchester? Not in the mood for cards?"

Mr. Winchester mock shuddered, before leaning his cane against the table and making himself more comfortable. "I never liked cards all that much," he admitted.

Mary wondered what was wrong with him, if he was sick or just alone. How close he was to dying, which was a terrible thought. "They need a poker night," she decided.

"What's your name?" he asked, holding out a hand that only shook a little. 

"Mary," she replied, surprised he didn't know. "I work front desk."

Her name provoked an odd, distant smile, but before she could comment, Mr. Winchester made a motion indicating how these things escaped him, and then confided, "I'm waiting for my brother. He's coming to get me."

That made Mary happy. She liked when they had someone, even if this particular someone was probably pushing ninety and most likely shouldn't be--

"Does your brother _drive_ , Mr. Winchester?"

"Sam, please, ma'am. Mr. Winchester makes me feel old." A chuckle, and then, "Dean'd just die if he knew you were asking whether or not he drove. Got quite the car, too. I haven't been in her in years, but he'll have taken car of her. She's still his baby."

Mary laughed, out of a sudden urge to be pleasant. Sam Winchester had a nice look about him, as if he’d be easy to confide in. Squinting her eyes, she tried to peel back sixty odd years; decided he must have been good looking in his day, if not out and out hot. And not hot in the same way as Ryan, the jackass. Nice hot. Whatever. Giving her head an internal shake, she took a drag of her cigarette.

“What kind of car?”

Sam Winchester slapped his knee and almost beamed with pride. “’67 Impala.”

Mary wrinkled her nose. “An Impala? I thought they stopped making those when gas cars went the way of the dodo.”

“1967, sweetheart,” he amended.

It took a lot for Mary to contain her obvious doubt. Sam Winchester’s brother Dean, who had to be at least eighty five, if not closer to ninety, was driving a car that was one hundred and four years old, and a car that ran on gas at that. Talk about your classics!

“Laws were passed!” she protested. “Your brother could get a huge fine, Mr… Sam. And at his age, no offence, I don’t think he needs the cops after him for driving.”

“Electrical cars.” Sam shook his head, in a way that suggested he didn’t really believe such things worked. “At least they don’t hover.”

Hover. Putting her cigarette out with the toe of her shoe, Mary decided with a touch of sadness that Sam Winchester was perhaps a bit senile. 

“You enjoy your visit with your brother, Sam,” she offered when she stood. 

“Nice meeting you, Mary,” was his reply. “I’ll have to stop by your desk sometime and say hello. I don’t have much in common with the people here, but you know. You get tired of normal, at my age.”

Which made no sense, to Mary. Wondering if he was calling her abnormal, she reminded him gently, “Stop by my desk when your brother comes, Sam. I need to know if you’ll be spending the night with him, or if you’ll be back for breakfast. Rules are rules!”

A scoff, and Sam was leaning back. “If I’ve learned anything in my life, rules don’t do shit for anyone.” 

His unexpected profanity made her smile. “They do shit for my records, Sam. You have a nice night!”

**

Later on, after Ashley, midday nurse from hell, had left for the night and Leah had come in to replace her, Mary logged onto the records database out of sheer boredom and ran a search for Sam Winchester. She didn’t know much about the patients here and didn’t care to—death was not her cup of tea. She wasn’t sure how she’d landed in her line of work but it was only temporary, she reminded herself. Only until she saved up enough to go for her degree, only until Ryan smartened up and—

Oh, hello Ryan with the tramp visual.

Scowling, she typed Sam Winchester into the required field; got nothing and tried Samuel. That got her what she wanted and, peeking around for Leah, Mary leaned back in her chair and began to read. 

Sam Winchester, she found out, was born on May 2, 1983—Jesus, he was older than she thought—in Lawrence, Kansas. No mention of the mystery brother, but his emergency contact was one Hailey Winchester, sister-in-law, who currently resided not more than a fifteen minute drive away. Second contact was Robert Winchester, nephew. Nothing but names on the screen, but… Mary had ten minutes left on shift. Decisively, she scrolled down.

His health report revealed no signs of dementia, and she found herself relieved. He had some sort of heart condition she’d never heard of, but further reading made it an easy guess that it was beating irregularly. Extremely high blood pressure, and a list of pills a mile long. Not bad for someone who was eighty eight, all things considered.

Ten minutes later, and she was out the door. Sam was still at the picnic table, staring down the drive, but it was only 9:00, and so there was no need to raise the alarm.

“Have fun with your brother, Sam!” she called out.

He glanced in her direction; yelled back, “Don’t think he’s coming tonight, Mary. Maybe tomorrow.”

**

The next day, Sam was waiting at the picnic table when she came outside for her lunch break. Her first reaction was the same discomfort—she didn’t know him, she didn’t want to—but manners won out over her fears of getting to know a resident, and she waved when she saw him.

“How come you’re not inside with everyone else?” Mary asked, upon seeing that Sam, too, had brought lunch outside.

A shrug, by way of greeting. “Have you ever sat in a room and listened to a bunch of old folks yapping?” he asked. 

“I forgot what a spring chicken you were!” And she laughed to show she was teasing. 

Sam smiled back. “Can’t explain it. You’d have to walk eighty eight years in my shoes, and then maybe you’d know a thing or two.”

Maybe Sam should walk twenty four years in hers, she thought. Out loud, she said, “Maybe your brother would like to come live here too.”

“Dean?” A genuine laugh this time. “Yeah right.”

“Well, he does have a wife to take care of him,” Mary admitted, before wanting to slap herself.

Sam’s smile was slow and too smart for its own good. “Look me up, did you?” When her red face was an answer in and of itself, he took off in the manner of the old folks he apparently disliked and said, “Yeah, the wife. Hailey’s good as they come. She used to teach, you know. We met her once, long time ago, thought nothing of it. Then she tracked Dean down a few years later. She’d written all these papers on the Anasazi, got herself a Masters, made herself a real expert. Dean was so proud of how she’d handled everything, I think he fell in love almost on the spot. Truth be told, I never really pictured my brother with her type. Quite a charmer, Dean.”

Mary did not know what _everything_ was, but Mary knew a thing or two about charmers. Insert Ryan related gagging here. “Were you married, Sam?”

A shadow flashed across Sam’s face, and he shook his head. “Are you?”

Mary shook hers too. Then, because Sam was wearing a very inviting look, she added, “I’ve been with this guy for four years, and I think he’s been cheating on me for three. I’m going to dump him, I think.” Right after she quit smoking.

“Trade up.” A wise nod, and then Sam too confided, “There was a girl when I was your age. Her name was Jessica. I loved her and she died. Holding on is somewhat of a family tradition.”

Mary took that all in with a nod, and mumbled an awkward, “I’m sorry.”

“Ancient history, Mary, but thank you.”

There was a silence then, strangely comfortable. Mary munched her way through her salad, thinking about what it would be like to be Sam’s age; thinking of how very long eighty eight years was. Having never met her own grandparents, Mary felt an unexpected twinge of curiosity. 

“Ask away,” Sam invited. “Finding myself nearly at the end is giving me the strangest urge to talk. Plus, it’s nice to talk to someone from this generation. Keeps me cool.”

Cool? Well, whatever. Smiling, she asked the question on the forefront of her mind. “Did you never want a family?”

“Once, with Jessica.” Then, “Dean had a family. Robert and Mary, same name as you. I was fine just having them around every once in awhile. Didn’t have a taste for it, after how things went, but Dean… It was my dream, and then it was his. Priorities have a way of changing.”

He sounded elusive, but Mary did not push. “Is your brother coming tonight?”

“Not sure,” Sam replied. “I’m going to wait for him all the same. He’ll come soon.”

**

After that, it all seemed quite accidental. Sam was at the picnic table, or Sam was in the front room, seemingly timing her break. Mary couldn’t figure out what it was that she’d done to win his friendship—“Meeting a Mary now!” he’d told her once, but that made no sense—but it happened all the same. Happened before she could avoid it, quite honestly.

She learned a lot about him in that time, and how could she not. Sam had had a troubled childhood, which he clearly glossed over, and Dean had more or less raised him. Dead mother, absentee father, and an upbringing that had occurred all over the country. He was so vague about his father that Mary suspected illegal activities; he was so open about his brother’s criminal past that Mary couldn’t find it anything other than endearing, in a scary outlaw kind of way. 

Professional hunters was what he said they were, after big game. Family tradition. Saving people, although he would never say what from. “Trust me when I say you don’t want to know,” he’d answer to her questions. And his urgency, his absolute fervent belief in that, convinced Mary despite her better judgement.

She knew that Dean had married Hailey in 2010; that Robert was born in 2011 and Mary in 2013. She knew that Robert had two daughters and Mary had a son, who played basketball at university. She knew that Dean became a mechanic and only hunted whatever it was they hunted locally. She knew that Sam finished his law degree and settled near his brother. She knew how much Sam had loved Jessica.

In turn, she told Sam about her own rocky childhood. About how she had majored for a year in history before changing her mind and dropping out; about how she’d met Ryan at a frat party during that year. She didn’t want to marry him, not really, and she told Sam that too. She had daddy issues maybe, and Sam had laughed and said, “I’ll drink to that!” 

On the thirteenth night, she passed Sam on the porch on her way and said, “Is Dean coming tonight, Sam?”

A gentle sort of smile and, “Not tonight, Mary, but soon. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll see you at one o’clock!” she corrected, laughing. “I might like talking with you, but don’t you think for one second I’m coming in early!”

**

Two weeks into her odd accidental friendship, Mary asked for the truth. Easier to approach Leah, who wasn’t as snappy as Ashley and seemed like a better nurse. Easier to approach Leah, because Leah seemed to approve of her relationship with Sam.

“Truthfully,” was what Mary said, logging onto her computer, “how long does Sam have?”

Leah, who was checking her mail, glanced up, eyes soft and understanding. “It’s hard to say, Mary. Could be months, could be years. Do you want the truth straight up? I think it’s good that he has you. A friend.”

“But his brother?” she asked. “He has a brother, Leah. Keeps saying he’s going to come visit.”

Leah looked confused. “If he has a brother, he’s never graced us with our presence.” A shrug, and, “Maybe he can’t get around on his own anymore.” 

The fear in her stomach seemed engulfing. Better not to get too close, she knew that. Better to keep a distance, because people didn’t check out of here. 

Bitch of it was, she genuinely liked Sam.

**

“Why hasn’t Dean come yet?”

The afternoon sun was shining brightly on the porch; it was eleven o’clock and Mary was two hours early. She’d snuck Sam in a beer in her purse, bad of her, very bad of her, and he was taking surreptitious sips of it, on the look out for Ashley. She told herself Dean’s absence didn’t bother her, told herself it wasn’t any of her business. However, night in and night out, and she couldn’t stand Sam waiting anymore.

When he was silent, she added, “I have a car, Sam. I can take you to see him.”

That prompted a smirk. “Dean would have liked you, Mary.”

“Well,” she huffed. “I’m sure I’ll like him too. I have Tuesday off. You can save me from breaking up with Ryan!”

Sam’s smile wasn’t quite there, and he didn’t rise to her Ryan bait. Habit dictated that he reply with, “He’s a jerk, Mary. Wish I could hunt him.” Today, however, Sam missed his cue, and sighed instead.

Surprised her with, “Do you believe in Heaven, Mary?”

It was an odd question, and deserved thought. Gazing at Sam, she tried to figure out how to explain her absolute belief in something; how to put into words those moments when she knew beyond a doubt she wasn’t alone. In the end, she failed at life. Shrugged.

“I want to.” And that was honest enough.

Sam took it for what it was. Slapped his hands down onto his knees, and sighed again. “I do. I’ve seen a lot of bad crap, and I’ve always known there had to be something to counter it. You don’t get bad without good, right?”

Mary scuffed her shoe against the porch and said, “The perfect balance.”

“Yeah.” A pause that stretched forever. “Heaven for me is Dean in the Impala. The best years of my life were me and him, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. When I die, Dean’ll be there waiting for me in his stupid car. He'll drive me to Jess. I know it’s messed up, but I miss the Impala, Mary. I miss everything she represented.”

An absolute feeling of not wanting to know was rising in Mary’s stomach. Called for a smoke, which, after a quick questioning glance at Sam, she indulged in. “What happened to the Impala, Sam?” she asked, and knew he heard, “What happened to Dean?”

“Donated it to a museum. It’s the only place that’ll take proper care of her.” A sigh for strength, a pause for her attention. “Dean died of cancer seven years ago.”

Mary drew in a breath; put her hand on Sam’s arm, which felt so frail it made her feel like crying. “I’m so sorry, Sam.” And she meant it.

“I could have saved him. There was a place…”

She laughed then, high and uncomfortable. “You can’t cure cancer, Sam. You couldn’t have saved your brother.”

“ _You_ can’t cure that kind of thing, you mean.” And then, on a note of resignation, “But it was okay, Mary. He was ready. He didn’t want to be saved anymore. He had a wife who loved him, a couple of kids, grandkids, a car that started still… Dean was done, and it was okay.” 

He didn’t say, “I’ll be done soon, too” but Mary heard it loud and clear. Looked away, across the grounds and into the distance.

“Every night you’re waiting to die, Sam,” she whispered, and it was accusatory, she couldn’t help it.

“I’m eighty eight; it’s not out of the question, is it? I’m not going to live forever. If you knew… I’ve lived a pretty damned long time. Dean too. There was a time when we didn’t think Dean would hit his thirties. I should have died in 2007. Don’t ask me, Mary. I’ll tell you someday.”

“Tell me what?”

But Sam was smiling again, a teasing light in his eyes. “Tell me when you’re going to throw Ryan to the curb. And when you’re going to quit smoking.”

She played light right along with him, although her stomach felt hollow and she was tired all over. “New developments, Sam. Perhaps he wasn’t cheating after all.”

But Sam was eighty eight, and had decades of experience behind him. “Maybe you’re afraid, Mary.”

Hitting the nail on the head. Looking away from him, she inhaled hard on her cigarette, and thought of all the things she was indeed afraid of.

**

Thirtieth night in and Sam was still on the porch. Spoke first when Mary came by, purse in one hand and car keys in the other. She was blowing this joint, and he was looking for an Impala in the distance. 

“Not tonight, Mary,” he told her.

But soon, she added mentally for him. Could see the change in him, from miles away. Not a hugger, not her, but she wanted to hug him just then, Sam Winchester isolated from normal and stuck with a fucked up twenty four year old for company. Wanted to hug him, so he would hug her. Wondered if one night he would just lie to her.

“Don’t be such a chicken shit,” he ordered, when she was down the steps. “Dump that jackass.”

Looking over her should at his stooped frame, she replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.”


End file.
